


the ship has weather'd every rack

by starrika



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Darcy Lewis is the fandom bicycle and I love it, F/M, On the Run, SHIP DARCY LEWIS WITH ALL THE THINGS, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Undercover Missions, triple agent brock rumlow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-04-08 15:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14108262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrika/pseuds/starrika
Summary: In the wake of SHIELD's fall, Darcy Lewis finds herself on the run from HYDRA. A Soulmate AU featuring TripleAgent!Brock Rumlow, gallons of UST, and plenty of sass.A continuation of this 'verse from The Soulmates Series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Soulmates Series](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14025171) by [starrika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrika/pseuds/starrika). 



When SHIELD went tits up, Darcy spent most of the day in her hotel room staring at CNN’s coverage of the shitshow going down in D.C. She had an internal debate, trying to decide if this was better or worse than the alien horde in NYC as she drank her coffee and trawled Twitter for updates. It would have been just another epic blowup she got to spectate from afar (just the way she liked it!) until she got the call from Clint that things were about to get far more personal – and public.

 

“Foster’s safe. I know Williams and Cull personally. They got a message to me that they’re going off grid. They didn’t have time to get back to you. You’re going to have to do this yourself, kid.” Barton’s voice was calm but firm. “Take the guns from your room. Leave, but look casual. Everyone knew Foster was at the observatory, so they are going to look for her there first. She’s not a high profile target for HYDRA, so you’ve got time. I’ve got my own bolt hole not far from you. SHIELD shouldn’t know about it. Take the spare license plates in Cull’s bag there and swap them out on the car before you go.”

 

Darcy’s hands shook as she started throwing things into her bag. “You going to be ok, Clint?”

 

“Don’t worry about me. Take the burner phones in Cull’s bag, too. I’ll text you the GPS coordinates for the safehouse. You might have company. Sit tight unless you absolutely have to leave. Assume anyone affiliated with SHIELD is HYDRA unless you have evidence otherwise. Code is _the ship has weather’d every rack_.”

 

Darcy blew out another shaky breath, ignoring the small words that wrapped around her ribs under her bra strap _(the ship – the ship has weather in every rack – goddammit_ ). She wondered if SHIELD had that in their file. “Subtle. Sounds like Agent J still has his hard on for Cap,” she quipped, as she finished throwing everything she could take into one bag.

 

“Be safe, Darcy.”

 

“You too, Clint.”

 

She spent the next four and a half hours driving with a white knuckled grip, anxiously scanning the roads around her for a tail as she drove into the Allegheny mountains. The safe house was a tiny cabin bordering the edge of the National Forest. She almost missed the unmarked gravel drive – if you could even call it that, it was more ruts in the mud than anything else – and she had to drive another two miles before the cabin itself came into sight. It was a bit dusty, but there was bottled water and some MREs, and a generator for power. It must have seemed safe enough, as she felt her adrenaline rush wear off not long after her arrival, and she sat down on the lone folding chair with a whoosh of breath. Her hands were shaking again. She had left her phone behind so that she couldn’t be tracked, and she desperately wished she had it with her for some Candy Crush to calm her brain.

 

She had only been there an hour before she heard a car coming down the gravel drive. “Fuck a duck,” she swore, fishing her taser out of her bag. She’d taken the guns but she had never fired one before, and felt like trying to learn on the fly was probably a good recipe for getting shot. She positioned herself behind the cabin door, trying to calm herself. Clint had said she might have company. This was probably going to be fine. _Probably_.

 

It was dusk, but she could still see enough to tell that the guy coming to the door had a gun out. He looked like hell, but he stopped on the porch and _actually fucking knocked_ . She startled, then realized he had to have known she was there, with her car in plain view. Darcy tended to babble when she was anxious, and today was no exception. “Hi honey, I’m home. I swear to God, if you’re HYDRA this is officially going to top my worst day list.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “And believe me, there’s been some very tough competition. Like, you think you have a bad day when some alien robot thingy does a beam me down Scotty and plays whack a mole, but _noope_ \---”

 

The door crashed open and Darcy shrieked, shooting her taser.

 

The man swore. “The ship – the ship has weather in every rack – _goddammit_ ,” he ground out, pulling the taser lines off his shoulder while keeping his gun trained on her. He eyed her once over and lowered the gun. “Are you even legal?”

 

“Are you HYDRA? Because I feel like that is a very important question I need answered,” Darcy replied.

 

“Depends on who’s asking.”

 

“Oh, that’s reassuring.”

 

He was still eyeing her. “Lewis. That’s who you are. Civilian. Puente Antiguo. Barton sent you here, didn’t he?”

 

“HYDRA or no, government goon?”

 

He holstered his gun and sat down heavily into the folding chair. There was dried blood and dirt all over him, and Darcy couldn’t tell if the blood was his own or someone else’s. He looked like he was still sizing her up. The silence stretched between them for a moment before he ran a palm over his face and sighed deeply.

 

“Been undercover.”

 

“Undercover as HYDRA or undercover as SHIELD?” Darcy countered, still clutching her taser to her chest, as useless as it had been the first time. He was between her and her bag with the guns – and probably knew it, too. Stupid jackbooted spysassins.

 

He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “What do you think?” he said sourly, taking deeper breaths. Darcy was starting to think some of the blood on him might be his.

 

“Are you – are you hurt?”

 

He narrowed his eyes, giving her another once over, assessing her as a threat. “Got any water?”

 

Darcy narrowed her eyes right back. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you not answering my questions,” she replied. She still went over to the cabinet on the far wall and grabbed him a bottle. She hesitated before bringing it back to him, although logically he had a gun and could shoot her just as easily across the room.

 

He sighed again, holding out his hand. The silence stretched between them as Darcy stood out of reach. “Widow sent me here. Been deep undercover as HYDRA for a long time. Need to get through that data dump to see what’s in there. May have to go back under.”

 

Darcy relented, placing the bottle of water in his outstretched palm, before stepping back towards the door. “Got a name, Agent?”

 

He raised an eyebrow at her before polishing off half the bottle in one gulp. “Classified.”

 

“By the super secret government agency that doesn’t exist anymore?”

 

“You’ve got a smart mouth, sweetheart.”

 

“You said my words, you know.”

 

“I know.”

 

There was another moment of silence. Darcy fetched him another bottle of water after he polished off the first one. “Are you hurt?” she asked again.

 

“I’ve had better days,” he said wryly. He groaned, pushing himself up from the chair. “This place have a med kit?”

 

Darcy shook her head. “I don’t know.”

 

He moved stiffly over to the cabinets, searching through the MRE packs before he pulled out a black bag that had been tucked all the way to the back. He shucked his tac jacket and shirt with another groan as he sat back down with the med kit. Darcy sucked in a sharp breath at the mottled bruises and open wounds with sluggish bleeding. Black apparently hid all sorts of sins.

 

“Jesus Christ.”

 

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered as he started to clean and bandage a jagged wound.

 

“And you’re going to go back for more?” Darcy replied, incredulous. He didn’t answer. When he finished with his front, she set her taser down and inched closer to him. “Do you need help with your back?”

 

“It would make this go faster.”

 

Darcy huffed, picking up the alcohol wipes to start cleaning a nasty looking scrape on his left shoulder. He didn’t even hiss, although she knew it had to hurt like a bitch. “My name is Darcy,” she said softly as she moved on to the next wound.

 

“I’m not telling you my name, sweetheart.”

 

“Because it’s classified?” she said waspishly.

 

“Because I’m trying to keep you safe.”

 

“Pretty sure we’re long past that point, buster. That data dump did me no favors.”

 

She finished his back, taping some gauze to the worst of his. He stiffly shoved off his pants, grabbing the butterfly bandages and applying them to a nasty gash. It bisected the words on his thigh, messy and bloody between _Hi honey, I’m home_ and _HYDRA this is officially going to top my worst day list_. She took a moment to ogle him in his boxer briefs before taking a look in the med kit. “That looks like it needs stitches.”

 

“I’m shit at giving myself stitches. This will do.”

 

“I can do it.”

 

He gave her an assessing look. Neither of them mentioned the words on his thigh. Her voice wavered but her hands had steadied themselves. “Have at it, then.”

 

She kneeled in front of him, threading the needle and concentrating as she slipped it into his skin. He didn’t even flinch, although she did. “Look Ma, all that crossstitch came in handy.”

 

He had a ghost of a grin around his mouth, although his eyes looked more crinkled in pain that amusement. “A woman of many talents.”

 

“Bonus points for not calling me a girl, Secret Agent Man.”

 

“You _are_ young. Didn’t you just finish college last year?” he muttered.

 

“Eh, switch your major a few times, end up on the seven year plan plus a fall birthday…” she shrugged, trailing off as she closed the nastiest part of the wound, biting her lip in concentration. “I’m twenty-seven.”

 

“That’s better,” he muttered.

 

“Yes, because my _age_ is clearly the hurdle here, Double-O.” She tied off the thread and snapped the rest with her teeth, ignoring how close her head was to his crotch and resisting the urge to make a joke of it. It was a valiant effort.

 

“Barton say how long you’d be here?”

 

Darcy shook her head and stood, going to get herself a bottle of water. She fiddled with the cap. “Gotta unplug. Get some R&R. Pull a Thoreau, be one with the woods, you know.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “By yourself.”

 

“He said I might have company.”

 

“Did he say who?”

 

“No.”

 

“Didn’t you have a SHIELD detail?”

 

“They left me behind,” she muttered, focusing intently on the plastic cap in her hand.

 

He paused before stiffly standing up to pull his tac shirt and pants back on. “Do you even have a gun?”

 

Darcy shrugged, taking a swig of water to ignore the rising panic in her gut. He wasn’t going to leave her here _alone_ , was he? “I brought some.”

 

He sighed, palming his face again. “Do you know how to shoot them?”

 

Darcy shook her head – and promptly burst into tears.

 

“Hey, hey,” he muttered, stepping forward to put his arms around her, rubbing her back in small circles as she sobbed. His chin came to rest on the top of her head and Darcy fisted her free hand into his shirt. “I got you.”

 

It took her a few minutes before she was composed enough to speak. “I’m scared,” she said into his chest. It was a very nice chest. Eight out of ten on the Thor scale of holy pecs and abs.

 

“I know.”

 

“I don’t want to die.”

 

“Most people don’t,” he said, a tinge of amusement in his voice. He smelled like a heady mix of dirt and sweat and blood and leather. She would have climbed him like a tree if it had been any other time.

 

“Are you going to leave me here by myself?” Darcy asked after a minute.

 

“I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

 

“You’re terrible at answering questions, Agent Tall Dark and Handsome.”

 

He kissed her forehead. His voice was low and quiet. “Call me Brock.”

 

Darcy let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. She took another deep breath in, trying to tamp down on the jangling panic that had reared its head when she started worrying about being left at the safe house alone. She eased the death grip she had on his shirt, letting her the back of her fingers brush up against his abs as she took a step back. She had to pull herself together. “What now, Brock?” she whispered, feeling as if she said his name too loud, it would bring HYDRA down on their heads.

 

He studied her for a moment, mouth set in a grim frown. “How good are you with computers? Coulson had you tagged as a potential hacker.”

 

Darcy narrowed her eyes. “Why do you know so much about me?”

 

“Read your file. I was supposed to be on the Puente Antiguo job. Barton took my place when I was reassigned to STRIKE.” He eased himself back into the folding chair, stretching his legs out.

 

Darcy crossed her arms, smirking inwardly as she noticed his eyes flick down to her chest before he met her gaze once more. _Score one for the girls_. She blinked, noticing his face looked less battered than it had before, although it was still streaked with dirt. She pictured him in Puente Antiguo instead of Clint, and she wondered what it would have been like to meet him then – to go to the town’s only juke and shoot darts, or sit out under the stars when Jane went on a science bender. Absentmindedly, she realized she was brushing her fingertips on her ribcage over her words and she stilled her hand.

 

“I dismantled my laptop so I couldn’t be tracked, but it’s here. I’m decent at getting into things, but I’ve never been great at covering my tracks.”

 

He muttered a curse under his breath, too low for her to hear exactly what he said. “Might have to take the risk,” he said after a moment. “Which agents were working your detail?”

 

“Williams and Cull,” Darcy replied. She had picked up her water bottle and was back to fiddling with the cap. “They had gone with Jane to the observatory today. Clint said they were going to ground with her.”

 

“They should be clean. But if they’re going to ground, we’re never going to find them. Williams managed to go off the grid for three years when we were training the last class of agents.”

 

Darcy quirked an eyebrow. “You play hide and seek with the baby agents?”

 

“ _I_ don’t,” he replied, but there was a hint of a smirk on his face.

 

“Ok, so Plan A to dump me back in their lap is out. What’s Plan B?” she said brusquely, once her amusement passed. She tried not to take it personally that his first thought was to get rid of her.

 

“Working on it,” he said tersely, palming a hand over his face once more.

 

Darcy slid down the wall she was leaning against, propping her chin on her knees when she came to rest on the floor. “Do you also make the baby agents play sardines?”

 

“What the fuck is sardines?”

 

Darcy grinned, picturing Williams and Cull and Coulson and Clint jammed into a closet together. “Like hide and seek, but when you find the person who’s it, you have to hide with them, wherever they’ve crammed into. Last person to find the group loses.”

 

He barked a laugh, and Darcy wondered if he was picturing the same scenario she did. “I’ll let you be the one to suggest that to Fury.”

 

“Isn’t he dead? I swear, you spy types are worse than the soaps with this fake dead bit.”

 

He stood up from the folding chair and stretched. Darcy could see him wince as his back cracked. He _had_ to be pulling at the stitches and scabs – not that she was complaining to see that strip of abs as his shirt rode up. “This place have a shower?”

 

Darcy nodded. “Yeah. The generator hooks up to a well. Smells like rotten eggs, though.”

 

He shrugged. “Better than nothing,” he said and went off to investigate. “Don’t turn on any lights until you’ve got the blackout curtains in place.”

 

She heard the sound of running water not long after, and she took a moment to picture him standing under the spray. Biting her lip, she stood up to poke around the kitchen cabinets and catalogue how many water bottles and MREs were left. They had enough to get them through a week. There was a tidy stack of wood next to the stove in the corner, and it was already starting to get cold once the sun had gone down. Darcy hoped Brock had brought some matches, as trying to get a fire started was always a bitch. She drifted over to the bedroom, eyeing the lone bed. It was a plain mattress, maybe a double frame. There were two dusty sleeping bags tucked under it, but nothing else. Darcy huffed, wishing Clint had warned her to bring a hotel pillow. She had always hated camping growing up.  By the time she had completed a quick circuit of their supplies and pulled down the blackout shades, Brock was done in the shower. He came out to the living room to grab the med kit with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Darcy took a moment to ogle his body – _seriously, those abs looked photoshopped_ \- before noticing that the wounds she had cleaned were already starting to heal.

 

“That’s a neat party trick,” she blurted out, before clapping a hand over her mouth. She really needed to work on that brain to mouth filter.

 

“A real hit at kids birthday parties,” he said dryly. He left the bathroom door open, and Darcy could see his wet clothes hanging over the shower bar.

 

“You got a bag you need me to grab?”

 

“Didn’t exactly have time to pack. Barton got any clothes here?”

 

Darcy shook her head. “I didn’t see any, but I’ll look again.”

 

She thought she heard him mutter _damn_ as she went back to the bedroom, checking the closet she already knew was empty. She moved on to the drawers of the small wooden dresser. All she found was a pair of black basketball shorts, which she eyed dubiously as she held them up, wondering if they were even clean. “Found some shorts. I have one of Thor’s shirts that should work for you, too,” she added, tossing him the shorts on her way back to her bag in the main room. He must have pulled the shorts on while she was digging in her bag, because when she turned again, all she could focus on was the trail of dark hair on how lower abdomen, disappearing into the low-slung shorts. She swallowed, mouth suddenly feeling dry, and tossed the gray Culver tee in his direction. He pulled it over his head and Darcy sucked in a breath of air as she realized she had forgotten to breathe.

 

“See something you like, sweetheart?”

 

He was smirking at her. Darcy huffed and rolled her eyes, going back to her bag to organize the mess she had made of it. “None of your sass, Brock.”

 

The smirk remained, but the look in his eyes softened when she said his name. He grabbed a protein bar from the kitchen before going back to the folding chair to sit down and eat. “You got a way to get ahold of Barton?” he asked after a moment.

 

Darcy shook her head. “No. Said he would contact me. He knows I have Cull’s burner phones.”

 

“Okay, so Plan B. We give Barton twenty-four hours. If we don’t hear from him or Widow, you’re going to have to do some hacking.”

 

Darcy bit her lip, looking at the serious expression on his face. “Is that safe?”

 

He shrugged. “Probably not.”

 

Darcy sighed, zipping her bag shut once more and deciding to shower in the morning. The cabin was getting colder now that the sun had gone down, and she didn’t fancy trying to sleep with wet hair. She hadn’t thought to pack a blow dryer. “Fine. Whatever you think is best. Now go be a super agent and start a fire. It’s getting cold in here.”

 

“It’s at least sixty degrees.”

 

“I’m a delicate flower.”

 

He blatantly looked her up and down. “Really,” he drawled. He was smirking at her again.

 

Darcy crossed her arms, and watched his eyes automatically drop to her chest. “New Mexico ruined all other climates for me. Chop chop.”

 

He went.

 

Darcy took a seat on the floor with her back against the wall once more. She hoped Jane was safe. It felt weird to be in the middle of a crisis without her. Darcy sighed, noticing it didn’t take Brock long to start a fire. He had _said_ he would make sure she was safe, but he seemed all too eager to ditch her and return to his cover. She had never been the type of girl to romanticize soulmates, but a small part of her had hoped when he said her words that he might _care_ if she was going to live through this clusterfuck. Instead, she had been lucky to even get his name. If Brock _was_ his name. It was a little disheartening.

 

He came back to the main room and moved the folding chair closer to the stove. “Come sit over here if you’re cold. The floor won’t bother me.”

 

That made her feel a little better.

 

He looked far too at ease sitting on the wooden floor, reminding Darcy again about how quickly he had healed from the fight. She knew if she asked, he would probably tell her it was _classified_. He definitely went to the _Coulson School of Agent-ing_. Not that she expected him to tell her everything – she knew things were classified for a reason – but a little more info while on the run for her life might have been nice. She felt like crying again. The rational part of her brain that talked in Jane’s voice knew that it was from all the stress of the day, but that didn’t help the urge go away.

 

Darcy stood abruptly. “I think I should probably go to bed.”

 

“You should bring the bag in here. The stove won’t get much heat back there.”

 

Darcy sighed. She tamped down on the urge to cry. “The floor’s hard.” She winced at the whine in her voice.

 

He gave her a look like he could tell what was going through her brain. It made her want to throw a water bottle at his face. He looked like he knew that too, the jerk. She didn’t care if he had lickable abs and a happy trail that practically made her drool. He was a spysassin, secret-keeping _jerk_ . Ten seconds later, he had dragged the mattress in from the other room, where it kicked up a cloud of dust when it landed and she reevaluated. Maybe he wasn’t a _complete_ jerk. Even if she was only seventy percent sure Brock was his real name.

 

“Go ahead and sleep. I’m going to keep watch for a while. And eat a Snickers, Betty White.”

 

“Fuck you,” Darcy replied - but she laughed instead of cried, and that helped.

 


	2. Chapter 2

He was sitting in the lone chair eating a shady looking MRE when she woke up, light streaming in from the windows where he had lifted the blackout shade. Darcy groaned, feeling the lack of pillow in her stiff neck. Getting old was the _pits_. This downward slide to thirty was depressing as hell. She missed her teenaged ability to sleep anywhere. And eat anything, for that matter. Her teenaged metabolism could rival Thor’s pancake eating ability.

 

“Did you even sleep?” she murmured groggily. It felt like she barely slept, and she had that disoriented feeling which normally accompanied a science bender with Jane. She blinked, noticing he looked nearly healed. It made her wonder about the gash on his thigh, and the words there that they weren’t talking about. Would it scar? Would her words show through the scars, like the cheesy romance novels?

 

“Some,” he said with a shrug.

 

“Coffee?” she said hopefully, as she sat up and began trying to gather her tangled hair into a messy bun. She probably had mascara smeared under her eyes while GQ over there looked fresh as a daisy. It was enough to give a girl a complex.

 

“Instant,” he replied with a grimace.

 

Darcy pulled a face. “Guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

 

Brock shrugged again. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, looking at ease in the folding chair. He looked like he was at a backyard barbeque, not holed up in some safe house on the run from Hydra. Darcy wondered how many life-threatening events you had to experience to be so blasé – it was the same devil-may-care attitude she saw from Clint. Darcy couldn’t decide if it was an appealing or punchable trait. After shamelessly ogling his chest for a minute, she decided the scales were tipping towards _appealing_. Her eyes drifted back to his face to see him smirking at her, the cocky bastard.

 

She sighed and shimmied out of the sleeping bag. “So what’s the plan, Secret Agent Man?”

 

He gulped down half his coffee before answering. “Still in flux. No word from Widow,” he muttered.

 

Darcy checked the phones she had set on the small counter top on the kitchen, but there were no messages from Clint. _If_ that was even how he intended to get a message to her. Who only knew with these spy types. “None from Clint, either.”

 

“Unless he would email you?”

 

Darcy shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m supposed to be laying low.”

 

“He probably needs a few days to check on the farm before he can get to you.”

 

Darcy filled her cup and dumped in the instant coffee. Instant coffee was _foul_ and an affront against God and nature. She scowled before her brain caught up to what Brock had just said. “Farm?” she questioned, head perking up. She grinned. Even without a mirror, she knew it was a shit-eating one.

 

He smirked. “Farm.”

 

Darcy let out a guffaw. “I am _so_ changing his ringtone to _She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy_.”

 

Brock snorted. “Make sure to call him when he’s meeting with Fury. Barton always forgets to silence his phone.”

 

Darcy leaned on the counter, laughing until tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. She sucked in a deep breath of air; her stomach hurt from laughing so hard. “Oh my god, could you imagine?” She look another breath and took a tentative sip of her coffee. “I needed that.”

 

Even Brock looked amused, with his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He was far less tense than the day before, his entire body loose in the chair, even if his eyes were alert. He looked _damn fine_ in those basketball shorts, with the tattoos on his arms peeking out from below the sleeves of the shirt.  He was filling out Thor’s tee shirt better than a mere mortal should be able. Darcy pulled her eyes up from shamelessly ogling his pecs, and noticed the bruising on his face was completely gone. After a moment, it all clicked into place, and Darcy dropped her eyes to the counter. Yesterday, he had been in pain. Today, whatever super spy drugs he took had done the trick, and he wasn’t feeling like roadkill. Why the heck was SHIELD hoarding the magic drugs? _So_ unfair. Before she could engage her brain to mouth filter, she blurted out, “You seem better.”

 

He didn’t say anything, just narrowed his eyes. He looked like he was assessing her as a threat again.

 

“I’m not fishing,” Darcy protested. “I’m just – I’m glad you’re not in pain today,” she added lamely.

 

The silence stretched between them for a moment, but he was the one to break, glancing out the windows to do a quick perimeter check. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he muttered. He pushed himself up from the chair and went outside. He seemed unhurried, leaving her to assume he was just doing a thorough check of their surroundings.

 

Darcy blinked, taking another long draw of her coffee, mind stuck on the _sweetheart_ as the door closed behind him. The first time he’d called her that yesterday, she’d assumed sarcasm. _I’m not telling you my name, sweetheart_. But she was starting to reconsider, mentally tallying just how many times the endearment seemed to sneak its way in to conversation, even when his tone was sarcastic. Her taste buds caught up to what she had been drinking. The coffee was absolute shit. She tossed back the rest, and decided she would rather shower than try to tackle an MRE. She grabbed her bag, glancing out the window to see Brock taking a look at one of the cars. Might as well get a shower now while the world wasn’t ending. Even if the water smelled like rotten eggs, it was better than nothing.

 

She felt like a new woman afterward, even with the smell and the shitty water pressure. A fresh change of clothes and a clean face helped her feel ready to tackle whatever the day wanted to throw at her. She even felt optimistic enough that she was was going to give that dubious looking MRE a try. Although the idea of freeze dried scrambled eggs made her want to hork. She pulled the package out of the cabinet, flipping it over to read the ingredients. Was there even a way to warm this up? If she had to eat _room-temperature_ , freeze dried scrambled eggs, she really would be sick. After a few minutes of staring, she chickened out, shoving the MRE back in the cabinet and taking a protein bar instead.

 

When Brock came back in, she was sitting on the mattress combing out her wet hair and cursing herself once again for not thinking to pack a blow dryer. “Everything ok out there?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Going stir crazy already?” Darcy asked. She could commiserate. She kept catching herself wishing she could grab her phone and play Candy Crush or pull up Facebook.

 

He sat back down in the folding chair. “A little.”

 

Darcy set down the comb and sectioned her hair to begin braiding it. She took a closer look at his face, “How much sleep did you get last night?”

 

“Enough.”

 

Darcy raised an eyebrow. “You can sleep and I can keep watch, if you’re worried.”

 

Brock shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine. Doubt anything will happen today, unless Barton sends someone this way.”

 

“You really think so?” Darcy asked. There was a persistent buzz of anxiety in the back of her head, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, no matter how many times she tried to banish it. Knowing her luck, there’d be murderous aliens. _Again_.

 

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t think it.”

 

It didn’t dispel the anxiety, but Darcy let out a slow breath she didn’t realize she was holding, feeling something loosen a bit in her chest. She picked up the comb she had set down, trying to work out a knot she had missed. “Still no word?”

 

He shook his head, tipping back in the chair to balance only on the back legs.

 

“You’re going to fall back and crack your head open,” she warned.

 

He shot her an amused look. “Think I’m better than that, sweetheart.”

 

“You’re going to crack your head open and die, and then what am I going to do?”

 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re melodramatic?”

 

She pointed the comb at him in mock offense. “ _Rude_ .” He raised an eyebrow, shooting her a look like she had just made his point for him. “ _So_ rude. The rudest.”

 

“I’m adding a note to your file. _Irrational when hungry_.”

 

“Hey! I had a protein bar. Clif Bars never did me dirty like that instant coffee. I am now suspicious of the US government and its food supplies,” Darcy protested.

 

“Yes, stale instant coffee is the reason why you should be suspicious of the government. Clearly.”

 

Darcy tied off her braid with a haughty sniff. “ _Someone_ woke up on the sassy side of bed today.”

 

“Scratch that. I can just put _irrational_.” Darcy chucked the comb at him, where it landed ineffectively at least a foot short of its intended target. He snorted in amusement. “Watch out, we’ve got a badass over here.”

 

Darcy narrowed her eyes at him. “You are _too old_ to be spending that much time on the internet. You did not just quote a meme at me.”

 

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “How old do you think I am?”

 

“Old. I bet your pubes are gray,” Darcy retorted.

 

“You want a show sweetheart, all you gotta do is ask,” he said with a smirk. He laced his hands behind his head, letting the hem of the shirt ride up to show a hint of abs.

 

Darcy deliberately gave him a slow once-over. “Eh, I’ve seen better,” she said. “Although not that many cut geriatrics, so kudos for that, I guess.”

 

He let out a short bark of laughter. “I see why you’re friends with Barton.”

 

Darcy grinned. She and Clint _had_ bonded over talking shit. Well, that and Mario Kart and the surprisingly decent tamales from the gas station in Puente Antiguo. “So, how old is America’s Sexiest Geriatric?” She didn’t care if she was being blatant in fishing for information. He seemed to know everything about her, and all she got was a probably fake name. She at least deserved a name and age for her soulmate, right?

 

“Thirty-nine,” he replied, tipping his chair even further back on its legs. Darcy couldn’t decide if she wanted to slap that cocky grin off his face or climb into his lap. She wondered what the odds were of Clint having condoms in his safe house. Her libido had a few suggestions on how to pass the time. And by a few, she meant at least three fantasies had popped into her head during the last five minutes alone.

 

He had turned his head to do another perimeter scan out of the windows, putting the front chair legs back onto the ground. Darcy went over to the comb she had thrown, which was lying at his feet. She grinned, and did the _Legally Blonde_ bend and snap to pick it up. It was what? Ninety percent effective, right? Nonchalantly, she packed it back into her bag, noting that he had gone from looking out the window to eying her instead.

 

“Was that supposed to be subtle?” he said, raising an eyebrow. He had an amused grin.

 

“No,” Darcy replied cheekily. She walked over to the kitchen to grab herself a bottle of water. No matter how much she wanted coffee, she wasn’t about to torture herself with more of that dreck.

 

“Could you toss me one of those?” he asked when she opened the cabinet. “Oh, wait,” he added sarcastically.

 

“Ha. Ha.” Darcy rolled her eyes and set a second bottle on the counter for him to come grab. She took a look at the phones, but as she suspected, there was nothing from Clint. No texts, no missed calls. She sighed.

 

He had sauntered up to the counter to grab the water, but he lost the grin when she checked the phones. “Nothing?”

 

“No. Lay it on me. What are our options?” Darcy asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. She tightened her grip on the edge to keep from drumming her fingers. She didn’t know why she was trying to play it cool. James Bond over there could probably tell she was nervous anyway.

 

Brock took a drink of the water before he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter top. He was disconcertingly close. “Two ways this could go – my cover blown or no.”

 

“But what does that mean?”

 

“If my cover’s blown, we go.”

 

“And then what? Together? Or are you just going to turf me somewhere else in the wilderness?” Darcy was proud that she kept her voice even. She wanted to scream.

 

“Depends,” he said tersely.

 

“On what?”

 

He let out an exasperated sigh but he kept his eyes locked with hers. “I don’t know. Have to see how things go.”

 

“That’s not a _plan_ ,” Darcy protested, crossing her arms.

 

“That’s not how any of this works, sweetheart. You can’t rely on plans. Even the best laid plans will get you killed half the time. You got to roll with it,” he replied. He managed to not sound condescending, but Darcy still wanted to slap him.

 

Darcy ground her teeth in frustration. “And if your cover isn’t blown?”

 

He shrugged. “Back in.”

 

“How – how can you be so fucking _nonchalant_ about this? Go undercover as _HYDRA_ again?”

 

“It’s my job.”

 

“Bullshit. It’s going to get you killed. You looked like hell yesterday. I don’t care what magic healing drugs they gave you, you’re not _invincible_.”

 

“Believe me, I know.” His voice was dry.

 

“And you go back undercover, what happens to me? I just sit here hoping Clint’s not dead and he eventually contacts me? I let you turf me in some other remote place by myself, waiting for the inevitable hit to catch up with me?” Despite her best efforts, her voice cracked on the word _hit_.

 

He was silent. She could see a muscle tick on the side of his jaw.

 

“I knew it,” Darcy muttered, swallowing down the lump in her throat. He was going to shove her in some godforsaken corner and leave her.

 

“You think you could go undercover?” Brock said abruptly. He stood up and crossed his arms, studying her with a frown.

 

“Like, dye my hair, witness protection undercover?” Darcy asked, confused.

 

“Something like that.”

 

“I’m a terrible liar.”

 

“I didn’t ask if you were a good liar.”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Darcy said warily. “But I bet witness protection has HYDRA all up in its bitch, too.”

 

“Not witness protection.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“You’d come back with me. We’d say you were a sleeper agent.”

 

“What?” Darcy closed her mouth abruptly, realizing she had left it hanging open in shock.

 

“It would take HYDRA off your trail,” Brock explained.

 

“How- I don’t know how to _fight_. I can’t pretend to be a HYDRA agent,” Darcy protested. She was the furthest thing from any agent, HYDRA or otherwise.

 

Brock shook his head. “Has to be closer to the truth, makes it more believable. You’re my soulmate, maybe my wife. We can figure a backstory out. Been a sleeper agent doing observation of Foster, evaluating her usefulness for HYDRA. We can mock up some reports, try to take some heat off Foster if they think her research is unlikely to further their aims.”

 

“Undercover as HYDRA,” Darcy said. Her mouth felt dry and she was sick to her stomach. Pretend to be an elite Nazi?

 

“Other than having you throw around a few _Hail HYDRAs_ , you won’t have to do much,” Brock replied slowly, as if he was deep in thought.

 

“What if they decide they want me to do more?” Darcy asked. She swallowed down another lump in throat, trying to fight the panicky tight feeling in her chest.

 

He shrugged. “We find a way out of it.

 

“I – fine. _Fine_.” Darcy said abruptly. She didn’t like it, but she liked it better than being left here alone, slowly going out of her mind. Plus, it would help keep Jane safe. How could she turn that down?

 

“All right. You’re going to have to do some hacking for me.”

 

Darcy went over to her bag, all playfulness lost as she pulled out the laptop and parts. “Give me a few to get this together and mask our IP. This might take a while if we’re trying to be subtle.”

 

“We’ve got plenty of time. I’m not rushing you,” he replied, leaning back against the counter.

 

“What if I bring HYDRA down on us?”

 

“You won’t. There are going to be so many vultures digging into that data, you’re not going to stand out.”

 

“But what if I _do_?” Darcy replied, wringing her hands as she waited for the computer to boot up.

 

“Then I deal with it.”

 

“I get that you’re a badass spyssasin, Brock - but you’re only one man. And I don’t care what voodoo you used, you looked like hell yesterday,” Darcy protested. “What if they send a squad out here?”

 

“Sweetheart, I look like hell because I went head to head with Captain America. I can handle whatever they might send out for a low-ranking target,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

 

Darcy whipped her head around to look back at him. “You _what_?!”

 

“Undercover HYDRA agent, remember?” he said sardonically.

 

Darcy stared at him in disbelief for a moment longer before shaking her head. “I’m not a hacker.”

 

“Coulson thought you might be. If he thought you might have the skills to hack for SHIELD, you’re going to be fine with data free for the taking on the internet. You can do this,” he said in a reassuring tone. “We’ll be gone from here long before anyone pays attention to any tracker that might be on your laptop. They’re dealing with far bigger messes right now.”

 

Hesitantly, Darcy turned back to her computer and typed in her password. She let out a shaky exhale, trying to calm her jitters. This was really no different from when she hacked the BMV for Thor. She could do this. The sooner they figured out what info was out there, the sooner they could come up with a plan. There had to be something better than turfing her in a remote location or having her masquerade as a sleeper agent.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It took hours to get through all the information. Darcy spent all of it on the edge of hyperventilating, feeling as if she was waving a red flag at a bull. Every sound made her jump, thinking it was HYDRA coming to investigate her digging. She always felt pukey when she was anxious, and she kept having to remind herself to take deep breaths to try and combat the nausea. Her shoulders were practically under her ears, she was so tense.

 

The information on her was no surprise. Her file with SHIELD was relatively slim, with copies of her school transcripts, and short observations of her personality from the Puente Antiguo team. It was clear she had been written off as having little value for any scientific projects, with the only notable highlights being her altercation with Thor and Coulson’s note that she was a potential hacker. The damning part was seeing her family, her friends, her _words_ , her bank accounts, her social media accounts – even the anonymous Tumblr – all laid out in plain text. In all the rush, she hadn’t thought about money until she saw her frankly pathetic checking account balance. If they ran, she wouldn’t get far without any money. She was a millennial, she had about three dollars in her wallet, for fuck’s sake.

 

Darcy made a mental resolution that if she survived this clusterfuck, she’d start saving some cash to have on hand for emergencies.

 

Jane had originally been written off as a useless academic by the SHIELD team, even after Puente Antiguo. Darcy wouldn’t have been surprised if it was because Jane was a woman, and a young one at that. Erik’s file, in contrast, was three times as long, and not because they included all his publications. Even though Jane had eventually merited a SHIELD detail, it seemed as if the intent was more to be prepared if Thor returned, rather than any real faith in her research. Darcy found herself clenching her teeth in frustration, angry on Jane’s behalf. SHIELD should have valued her for her _brain_ , not for how she might be used to persuade Thor to comply with their “requests.” Still, it would make it easier to turn HYDRA’s attention from her if they did go the undercover route. They had been dismissive enough in their earlier reports that it would be easy to paint Jane as a crackpot. Add in some sort of breakup between Jane and Thor, and they wouldn’t even bother to look for her, Darcy realized. It was too bad any satisfaction at the tidy solution paled in comparison to the indignation she felt on Jane’s behalf – and rage that SHIELD had planned to hold her as a hostage if necessary to convince Thor assist them the next time he returned to Earth. They might not have been HYDRA Nazis, but they were still fucking _assholes_.

 

“What are we looking for here?” she asked Brock after she had perused everything personally relevant. She had to take her mind off Jane’s file and _focus_.

 

“Basics first. My file, any reports involving me, any reports involving STRIKE Team Alpha, any reports referencing code names Crossbones or Bingo, any files or references to SEAL Team Two from 1993 to 2005. Also do a sweep for any mentions of Nicholas Bracco,” he added after a moment.

 

Darcy blinked after he rattled off that list. “That’s going to take a while. And stop pacing, you’re making me dizzy.”

 

“Yeah. Fine,” he replied, taking the folding chair. At least he wasn’t next to her on the mattress, hovering and trying to read over her shoulder.

 

“If I’m going to pull your file, I need to know your name,” Darcy pointed out. “Still classified?” she snarked.

 

“Start with Brock Rumlow,” he replied, all business. _Brock Rumlow_ . It was super douchey. Darcy wondered if his parents realized they had tagged their son as a bro. It was almost as bad as _Chad_.

 

“They have your words wrong,” Darcy blurted out, as she started skimming the bio. She looked up at him, startled. SHIELD had seemed creepily omnipresent when she had reviewed her own file. How had he managed _that_?

 

“I know.”

 

He didn’t elaborate further, leaving Darcy to sigh and go back to reading. “There are a bunch of mentions of something called the Shaw Experiments.”

 

“Add that to the list to pull.”

 

“What is it?” Darcy asked, curious.

 

“You’ll see,” he said tersely. “Are you seeing any references to interactions with Fury or Coulson, Project Orpheus, or Linus?”

 

Darcy shook her head. “No, not really. You have some paperwork that Fury signed off on when you were recruited, but most of the recruitment reports were drafted by someone called Alexander Pierce. The only information from Coulson is from the beginning of Puente Antiguo, but then Pierce reassigned you to STRIKE Team Alpha. Most of the reports and evaluations are written by a Jasper Sitwell. And I’m ninety percent sure he has a boner for you,” she added. “He spends a _lot_ of time writing about your physique. Think he might be a bicep guy.”

 

Brock snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“There’s no references to HYDRA, though.”

  


“STRIKE Team Alpha is an elite ops team. It’s entirely HYDRA.”

 

“Oh.”

 

She spent the next three hours painstakingly combing through reports about the STRIKE teams, and asking Brock questions that he mostly refused to answer. It was heavy shit. Going through the Shaw Experiments was even worse, as it detailed the drug cocktails and serum prototypes the STRIKE teams had been given in HYDRA’s attempts to build a super soldier. It sounded extremely painful – and looked to be sometimes lethal based on statistics. Only a measly two percent of recipients reported lasting accelerated healing factors, with no significant increase in strength, agility or speed. And HYDRA still hadn’t come close to matching Erskine’s healing speed. It was a lot of risk for very little payoff.

 

“Jesus Fuck,” she whispered, and looked back up at Brock, who had taken to pacing again. “Why did you let them play guinea pig on you? They could have _killed_ you.”

 

He didn’t reply. When it became clear he wasn’t going to, Darcy went back to reading. The covert operations and assassinations were starting to blur together when Brock set an MRE down next to her.

 

“You should eat something,” he said. He went back into the kitchen to rummage through the cabinet, looking at the options that were left.

 

Darcy wrinkled her nose. “Pass.”

 

“It’s shitty ravioli. If you can eat Chef Boyardee, you can eat it,” he told her. He began opening his own meal, standing to eat at the kitchen counter.

 

Darcy looked at the package dubiously. “If you say so. Sounds like you’re maligning my man Boyardee, though.” He shot her a look of disbelief. “Chef Boyardee and Easy Mac got me through elementary school when I wasn’t allowed to use the stove,” she explained. “It’s a hard knock life for us latchkey kids.”

 

She turned back to the computer, taking a bite as she moved on to the next file search. It actually _wasn’t_ terrible, although she wasn’t going to take that as evidence she should try the eggs tomorrow morning. She’d let Brock play the hero on that one. “What was that other name you wanted me to search?” she asked him after a few more bites. “Nicholas something?”

 

“Bracco. B-R-A-C-C-O.”

 

Darcy carefully typed as he dictated. “Who’s Nicholas Bracco?” she asked.

 

When he didn’t reply, she looked up. He had his head down, focusing on the food in front of him. “Just tell me if there’s anything in there,” he muttered after a moment, not meeting her eyes.

 

Darcy went back to eating. After twenty minutes of letting the search run, she shook her head. “Nothing.”

 

Some of the tension bled out of his shoulders. “Okay,” he said decisively. “I’m going back in.”

 

Darcy bit her lip. “Really?” she said quietly.

 

“Yeah, I am,” he replied, his tone gentler. “It’s my job.”

 

“But now everyone knows about HYDRA with the data dump. It’s not a secret anymore,” Darcy protested.

 

“Someone has to keep tabs on HYDRA in the void, pass the info on. Even if it takes time for SHIELD to get back up and running, there are other agencies the info can go to.” He paused. “You’ve got to make a decision, sweetheart. Are you coming back with me?”

 

Darcy curled her hands into fists in her lap, feeling her nails bite into her palm. “If I don’t?” she challenged.

 

“I told you, I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

 

“Safe meaning a remote location where I will slowly go out of my mind?” Darcy retorted.

 

He sighed. “At least for a while. At least until I could track down Foster for you. Or Barton gets back in touch.”

 

“Or I go with you and play HYDRA agent.”

 

“That’s the best I’ve got. I’m not leaving you here. Barton’s clean, but I don’t know who else he’s told about this place.”

 

Darcy bit back the urge to whine that the situation wasn’t fair. She realized she was nervously twisting the hem of her shirt in her hands, and let out a slow breath, trying to relax. She wasn’t very successful, but she at least stopped ruining her clothes for the moment. “Fine. I think – I think I should go back with you. I don’t –“ she paused. There were a few things she thought about saying, but rejected. For once, her brain was moving faster than her mouth. “I trust you.”

 

He let that comment pass. A part of Darcy was disappointed he didn’t say anything in return. She wasn’t expecting some romance novel declaration of love, but something _reassuring_ would have been nice. He moved back to the folding chair and sat down, leaning forward to look at her intently. “You’re going to need to fake some reports,” he told her. “I’ll tell you what to write. You just have to make it look like what you’ve seen in the files.”

 

Darcy let out a long exhale. “Okay. Tell me what to do.” It was a testament to the seriousness of the situation that she didn’t make a _Fifty Shades of Gray_ crack at that.

 

It was evening by the time she finished mocking up a few reports on Jane, and added them to the slew of data online. The observations on Jane were tagged as being written by an unnamed asset or agent, with only a number for reference. They had moved quick enough that the addition to the files might go unnoticed. Darcy shut her laptop with a sigh. Her neck and shoulders ached from hunching over her laptop all afternoon.

 

“Now what?” she asked.

 

He sat back in the chair, stretching his legs out. “I take one of those phones, make a few calls, we drive back to D.C.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“That’s it. Having second thoughts?”

 

Darcy shook her head. “No.”

 

“Good,” he replied, and stood up. He took a phone off the kitchen counter and went outside, leaving Darcy to flop back on the mattress and stare at the cracked ceiling, wondering how any of this became her life.

 

Things moved quickly after that. They worked out a rough backstory on the drive back to the city, but Darcy was dead on her feet when they reached the outskirts of D.C. at two in the morning. Her main hope was that HYDRA stocked decent coffee, as one measly cup of instant dreck almost a day ago was _not_ cutting it. The caffeine withdrawal with its pounding headache was starting to get real. With a wince, Darcy pinched the bridge of her nose and squinted at the bright lights of the guard station for the base. It was ostensibly SHIELD, but half the STRIKE teams were stationed there, making it effectively HYDRA. Brock flashed an ID and they were waved on without issue. He opened her car door and took her duffle bag, which Darcy assumed for restrained military types was practically PDA. She followed Brock into the biggest building. It was pretty gray and non-descript. There were plenty of people milling about despite the early hours, although no one gave them a second glance. Darcy was too tired to be nervous. Even when she heard someone call Brock’s name, she didn’t flinch – instead, she covered her mouth as a giant yawn split her face as some tall dude came towards them. He was dark and cut, and yeah, if he wasn’t HYDRA, she would probably be ogling. Brock had him beat though. Those cheekbones should be illegal.

 

“Thought you were dead,” tall dude was saying with a smile, giving him a slap on the shoulder.

 

“Sorry, Jack. Had to deal with some personal business after the data dump,” Brock replied. He looked completely relaxed, like he was greeting an old friend. Darcy had no idea how he did it. _How_ was he able to smile and play nice, knowing this dude was HYDRA?

 

Darcy could see tall dude’s eyes slide over to her place by Brock’s side. “Darcy Lewis,” she said, flashing him a friendly smile and offering him a hand to shake. His smile was contagious. It was easier than she had expected. She sort of hated herself for finding it easy.

 

He shook her hand. “Jack Rollins,” he said, but his eyes snapped back to Brock, eyebrows raised and clearly questioning the connection.

 

“She needed an extraction.”

 

“You extracting baby agents now, Rumlow?” He was clearly giving Brock shit. It was the face of every sibling who was thrilled when their brother got in trouble with the ‘rents and was stuck doing some shitty chores as punishment.

 

“I do when they’re my wife, Rollins,” Brock said tersely. Jack’s eyebrows climbed even higher, but he kept his mouth shut at the warning tone in his voice.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. If you could keep him from throwing himself into danger on a near daily basis, I’d appreciate it,” Darcy added, trying to sound fond and sincere. That was something a wife would say, right?

 

Jack Rollins laughed. “Nice to meet you, too. How long have you two been together?”

 

“Pop quiz, babe,” Darcy said with a grin and gave Brock an expectant look. “What’s our anniversary?” She tried to sound like she was putting him on the spot, as fuck if she could remember their cover story. She needed a trenta coffee and at least eight hours in a real bed to be functional again.

 

“You’re always busting my balls. I forgot _once_ , Darce,” Brock replied, the picture of a long-suffering husband. “We met five years ago. Got hitched last year. April 19th,” he added in explanation.

 

“So that’s why you missed that one mission,” Jack replied, looking as if he had put two and two together.

 

Brock looked thrown for a moment and Darcy wondered if he was mentally counting back weeks, trying to think of what he had truly been doing. She was going to have to bail him out. She made a snap second decision, putting her hands on her hips and doing her best to look pissed. “Mission? You signed up for a _mission_ when we were getting married?”

 

He rolled with it. “You know STRIKE’s different. You don’t _sign up_ for missions,” he replied condescendingly.

 

“So, you what? Called in sick? Did you not even tell your team we were getting married?” Darcy added in an accusing tone. She turned to Rollins, who legit shrank back from her glare. She was going to get a laugh out of that later. “Did he not tell you he was getting married?” she demanded.

 

“Uh, I should probably go,” Rollins said, trailing off. He looked supremely uncomfortable.

 

Darcy whipped to look at Brock once more. “You didn’t!”

 

“Sweetheart, you were undercover,” he explained.

 

“You didn’t have to give them my dossier! But normal people tell their friends they are getting married. Did you tell _anyone_?” She shot him a hurt look.

 

Brock gave Rollins an apologetic look. “Yeah, see you around, man.”

 

“I cannot believe you!” she exclaimed, and crossed her arms over her chest.

 

“Sweetheart,” Brock started, and sighed. Rollins was almost out of earshot down the hall. He leaned down to brush a kiss on her cheek, one hand resting on her shoulder. He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Thanks,” he muttered close to her ear once Rollins turned the corner.

 

Darcy sighed. She uncrossed her arms and reached up to pat his hand. “I can’t stay mad at you. But I am dead tired. Can we _please_ save the social hour for later and go to bed?” she pleaded. Assume eavesdroppers were present even if she couldn’t see them, he’d told her on the way there. Assume every room was bugged. Assume most places had audio _and_ video surveillance. There wasn’t much acting needed. She really, really wanted to go and get some sleep.

 

“Yeah, we’re just around the corner, sweetheart. I can show you around tomorrow,” he told her, sliding his free arm around her shoulders.

 

Darcy fought off another yawn. “And get me a decent coffee. A huge one. You owe me,” she added with a pout, poking him in the side.

 

“Yes, dear,” he replied sarcastically.

 

She poked him once again in the side. “Stop being a sassmaster. You should be _groveling_.”

 

“I can grovel,” he replied. The innuendo was clear. Darcy felt a shiver go down her spine. Her brain was telling her it was an act for eavesdroppers, but the rest of her body clearly was going to ignore it. She _should_ shoot him down and continue the annoyed wife act.

 

“Oh, yeah?” her traitorous mouth replied instead. Her tone was one hundred percent flirt and zero percent pissed off spouse. She was _fucked._

 

He had a cocky smirk on his face. He set down her bag and fished out a key card to let them in the door. “Yeah,” he echoed, his voice a low rumble. “Apparently I _owe you_ ,” he said with a wink. He let her enter first, flipping on the light switch to illuminate a nondescript room straight out of a hotel with a kitchenette, bathroom, and bedroom.

 

Darcy sighed, shucking off her shoes and setting them by the door. “I’m exhausted. Can I get a rain check on the groveling?” It wasn’t even a lie. After the tension of digging into the data, hacking in to plant the reports on Jane, and deciding to follow Brock into this mess, Darcy felt completely wrung out.

 

He followed her into the bedroom, crossing his arms and leaning against the door jamb. “Sure, sweetheart.”

 

“When are we going home?” she asked, shimmying out of her jeans and pulling the bra out of from underneath her tee shirt. He was watching her with those dark eyes. She was tempted to turn it into a bit of a show, try to tease him like he had been teasing her, but the desire to sleep won out. She slipped into the bed, taking a minute to unbraid her hair and rub her fingers over her scalp. A good night’s sleep and a ginormous cup of coffee should kill her headache in the morning.

 

“Tomorrow, probably. Need to check in with my CO, see what I missed. Think we’re probably going to regroup before any new missions,” he replied, stripping down to his boxer briefs before getting in the other side of the bed. “Should probably get plenty of time to _grovel_ ,” he promised.

 

“Mmm. I bet you killed my cactus while I was gone,” she murmured, snuggling down into the down pillows. She couldn’t keep flirting with him. She was going to trip up and say something she shouldn’t if they were being bugged. Plus, she wanted to enjoy the bed. They might have been evil, but HYDRA had _fantastic_ taste in bedding. Darcy felt like she was on a cloud. It was a king, and big enough that he wasn’t even all up in her personal space, which could have been awkward.

 

He shot her a look that was pure _what the fuck_ before rolling with her non-sequitur. “Nah, it’s fine. I promise.”

 

“I would have been pissed if you had killed Pokey. I’ve had him since New Mexico,” she added. He looked like he was struggling not to laugh. _Pokey_ , he mouthed and then shook his head as if he could not believe what was coming out of her mouth. She grinned. “Goodnight, babe.”

 

“Night, Darce,” he replied, switching off the light. Darcy was asleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes.


End file.
